


We Can Steal Time

by epeolatry



Series: Sexual Revolution [5]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward Boners, Awkward Sexual Situations, Friends With Benefits, Implied homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:55:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epeolatry/pseuds/epeolatry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Enjolras is misunderstood and Grantaire storms out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Can Steal Time

“Someone’s at the door!” yelled Courfeyrac around a mouthful of cereal. He was perched on a stool in the kitchen munching a mid-afternoon snack and surrounded by a collection of extremely explicit pornographic magazines that he was flicking idly through. He liked to leave them lying around the house where Marius was sure to find them, open at their smuttiest pages – he called it ‘educational’.

“Got it,” called Enjolras, striding down the hallway. It was a Sunday afternoon and he was dressed casually in jeans, a loose white t-shirt, and a maroon hoodie, his feet bare and his golden hair looking slightly dishevelled from two days spent locked in his room studying. As usual he was clean-shaven, but as he swept towards the front door Courfeyrac caught a whiff of unusual aftershave.

“Expecting someone special?” asked Enjolras’ perceptive flatmate as he inspected a centrefold with slightly more than academic interest; Courfeyrac could always tell when someone had put extra effort into their appearance, it was a sign he had learned to look for in clubs and bars while trawling for potential one night stands.

“Not in the way you’re thinking, no. I’ve invited Grantaire over to review the design work he’s been kind enough to do for us.”

Courfeyrac sniggered into his cereal and muttered something that sounded like, “I’d review his work any day.”

Enjolras opened the door and Grantaire grinned from the threshold.

“About time! If you’d taken any longer to answer I woulda left.”

The artist wore tight black skinny jeans and a soft grey t-shirt that was splattered here and there with spots of paint, the short sleeves of which showed off the multicoloured tattoos that swirled over his skin, images and writing meshed together in aesthetically appealing chaos. His dark curls were unruly as ever, in spite of being jammed under a red beanie. Despite the waft of stale cigarettes that followed him in through the door he seemed sober and alert, and Courfeyrac thought he detected a hint of effort in Grantaire’s appearance as well…

“Alright Courf?” Grantaire called in greeting.

Courfeyrac mumbled a hello through a mouthful of cereal and an eyeful of cunt.

Enjolras rolled his own eyes.

“I think we’ll be more comfortable in my room,” the blonde offered, looking anywhere but at the images of writhing bodies arrayed over his kitchen table, “Come through,” and he led the way down the hall.

Enjolras’ room was small and orderly, but not as assiduously neat as Grantaire had expected; the bookshelves that lined one wall were clearly labelled and sorted into categories – religion, politics, modern history, law – but there were also haphazard stacks of books and papers teetering on every horizontal surface, including parts of the floor. Enjolras lifted one of these precarious columns off his desk and dumped it across his unmade bed (a double bed, despite Combeferre’s assertion that the law student was asexual. Maybe he just liked to spread out while he slept?).

“So what have you got for me?” Enjolras asked, with no further preamble.

Grantaire smiled and reached into his bag wordlessly, producing his sketchbook in which he had mocked up a number of designs for Enjolras’ various political crusades.

The drawings were good, if he did say so himself. Watercolours of various exaggerated social justice scenes done in a Hogarth-esque style and coloured starkly in red and black. If asked, Grantaire would have said that he chose red because of its viscerally emotive qualities, but in reality he had chosen it after noticing Enjolras’ predilection for red clothing; today’s maroon hoodie proved it.

Enjolras seated himself at the desk and flicked through the pages in silence, his handsome face giving away not a flicker of his reaction until despite his initial confidence Grantaire felt a knot of panic beginning to tighten in his gut.

“These are… amazing,” conceded Enjolras at last, still wearing his poker face and looking at the images rather than at their originator, “You took Hogarth’s critical engravings of eighteenth century London as inspiration?”

“Yeah,” grinned Grantaire, his panic quickly dissolved by his pleasure at Enjolras’ perspicacity.

“Brilliant,” murmured Enjolras, seemingly particularly struck by a stylised image of a girl being beaten by police at a protest.

Grantaire was all but glowing with happiness as Enjolras continued to examine his work and make approving remarks. After a few more moments the student looked up and said simply, “I like the colour scheme.”

Grantaire’s heart could have burst.

**

“Come on,” pouted Courfeyrac as Combeferre continued to pore over his textbooks, “You haven’t gotten laid in ages… The last time was that sweet blonde who sucked you off in the back of the cinema two months ago, right?”

Combeferre’s jaw dropped and he looked up sharply, “How can you possibly- ”

“She’s an old friend,” Courfeyrac grinned, “Taught her everything she knows…”

Combeferre couldn’t help but smile; he had never been inclined toward other men, and if someone had asked him if he was gay he would have politely denied it, but there was something about Courfeyrac… Well, he was Courfeyrac, wasn’t he? And it had been a while…

Courfeyrac took Combeferre’s contemplative silence as acquiesce, and manoeuvred himself so that he was straddling the philosophy student on his desk chair.

“You’ve been studying all weekend,” Courfeyrac wheedled softly in Combeferre’s ear, “Let’s have a bit of fun.”

Combeferre could feel his self-control slipping away as he put his hands on Courfeyrac’s hips and the other boy wriggled closer.

“Enjolras isn’t home is he?” Combeferre all but whimpered, as Courfeyrac ground his pelvis down and licked delicately along the shell of his ear.

“Nope,” Courfeyrac lied, crossing the fingers of one hand behind his back while the other hand slid beneath Combeferre’s t-shirt, teasing bare skin with deft, light touches.

Combeferre closed his eyes and arched his back into the touch; it had been too long. A moment later he felt soft lips pressing lightly against his own. Courfeyrac was clean-shaven today, his cheeks soft like a girl’s, and Combeferre preferred him like this. It was a preference that Courfeyrac knew and exploited, taking one of Combeferre’s hands and stroking it down his face to emphasise the point.

The kiss deepened slowly, both taking their time and exchanging semi-chaste caresses through fabric before Courfeyrac slid his tongue gently across Combeferre’s lower lip, which remained resolutely closed against him while Combeferre smiled playfully against his mouth.

Keeping their lips pressed together, Courfeyrac rocked his hips into Combeferre, eliciting a gentle moan from the man beneath him and the opportunity to slip his tongue slyly into the other’s mouth.

Combeferre made a noise somewhere between a growl and a moan, and with one quick movement he pulled off Courfeyrac’s shirt, leaving the smaller man’s tanned torso bared to him.

“My, my, someone’s eager,” whispered Courfeyrac cheekily as he toyed with the other student’s glasses before removing them and placing them on the desk.

Combeferre laughed as he tweaked a nipple teasingly, “You started it!”

“Fair point,” Courfeyrac conceded, sighing happily as Combeferre began planting kisses along his smooth jawline, down his neck, across his shoulders, and down his chest.

The hardness in Combeferre’s trousers was pronounced now, straining insistently as the philosopher pulled a nipple into his mouth and sucked sharply, causing Courfeyrac to gasp and buck his hips involuntarily.

“Shall we take this somewhere a little more comfortable?” invited Combeferre, his voice husky and the tenting in his jeans obvious.

Courfeyrac nodded gladly and Combeferre stood, taking the smaller man with him, Courfeyrac’s legs wrapped around his waist and his own hands supporting his friend’s firm ass. Combeferre walked them over to the bed, deposited Courfeyrac on his back, and then climbed over his bare-chested flatmate.

Courfeyrac was smiling up from his prone position on his back, eyes dark and expectant, and as soon as Combeferre was within reach he slid his hands down the back of the philosophy student’s jeans and squeezed his ass encouragingly.

“Much more comfortable,” he purred with a grin as Combeferre’s body pressed down upon his own, “But I think we’d be even more comfortable without these pesky clothes…”

Combeferre laughed easily and allowed Courfeyrac to pull his polo shirt over his shoulders, revealing a lean, pale chest with freckled shoulders. Courfeyrac would never admit to favouritism of course, but of all their friends he enjoyed casual sex with Combeferre the most. It was always relaxed, carefree, lazy almost, with the Sunday afternoon sunlight glancing in through the window, warming bare skin and highlighting the philosopher’s usually mousy hair with threads of gold. 

On most days Combeferre was wound almost as tightly as Enjolras, but on days like these – days when he allowed himself to unwind for a few blissful hours – Courfeyrac found him excellent company. He revelled not only in the breathless whispers and groans of pleasure that he was able to draw from his friend, but also in the easy banter that passed between them, the smiles and the laughter, and the understanding that although none of what they were doing meant anything at all, it also meant everything; Combeferre would never do this with any man other than Courfeyrac, and Courfeyrac was never so happy to take his time was he was with Combeferre.

Combeferre’s fingers were opening Courfeyrac’s belt, his movements steady and deliberate, but the shortness of his breath betrayed his eagerness. Courfeyrac’s own fingers flew to the button on Combeferre’s trousers and tugged it open expertly. In a flash they were both naked, their heavy cocks brushing against one another and causing Courfeyrac to whimper in pleasurable frustration.

The horny law student satisfied himself with wrapping his hand around his friend’s cock and stroking deftly, causing Combeferre to squeeze his eyes shut and groan, “Lube?”

“Back pocket,” answer Courfeyrac, retaining his teasing grip on Combeferre’s cock as the other boy grabbed impatiently for the discarded jeans and sifted through the pockets.

“Turn,” the philosopher grunted, having grasped his prize, and Courfeyrac willingly obeyed, getting up on his hands and knees and wiggling his butt in a movement born half from seduction, half from impatience.

He heard the snick of the cap as Combeferre slicked his fingers and felt a thrill of anticipation steal through him; Combeferre was an attentive lover, patient and always thorough to the point of teasing in his preparations, and when one wet finger gently pressed into Courfeyrac the law student sighed with pleasure.

“You okay?” asked Combeferre, his breathing ragged but his movements in and out of his friend measured, careful.

“More, please…” Courfeyrac moaned, pushing himself back onto Combeferre’s hand.

The other boy obliged, sliding a second finger in and curling the two digits on each thrust, searching for that sweet spot that would make Courfeyrac yell his pleasure aloud instead of just moaning it quietly.

He found it once, twice, and Courfeyrac encouraged him with a litany of whispered filth as a third finger was added and the stretch burned in the best possible way, “Yes, yes, right there... Oh fuck! Jesus, Mary and Joseph – ‘Ferre! Oh god! More, please - give me more! I need your cock, please…”

Combeferre, a careful and thorough lover to the last, made Courfeyrac suffer another few moments of teasing preparation before he could contain himself no longer; he quickly unwrapped a condom and rolled it onto his throbbing cock, then pushed deeply into his friend, gripping the smaller man’s hips firmly as he fought to control himself amid the tight heat that enveloped him and threatened to push him over the edge all too soon.

They waited a moment, breathing raggedly together, until Courfeyrac muttered, “Just fuck me already…”

The obscenity of the phrase brought a grin to Combeferre’s face and he obeyed the command, thrusting quickly in and out and making Courfeyrac groan loudly.

**

Enjolras was smiling, “I can’t thank you enough for this you know, it really is- ”

A sudden, loud groan from the next room diverted the attention of both boys. Perhaps it was a noise of pain – someone might have stubbed their toe? Or a sound of frustration at a homework assignment? Grantaire thought it best not to comment. A momentary frown creased Enjolras’ forehead, but he continued speaking as though nothing had interrupted him;

“It really is amazing work, and- ”

Another loud groan, and this time the tone of it was unmistakably one of fucking – or more precisely, of one being fucked.

“ -And even though we can’t offer you any- ”

The loudest groan yet broke into Enjolras’ speech, followed by a clear shout of, “Oh god, ‘Ferre!”

Enjolras’ usual composure was beginning to slip, and Grantaire could see a faint pink flush beginning to creep over his smooth cheeks. For his own part Grantaire was also beginning to feel flustered, but he suspected for a different reason to Enjolras… The noises were increasing in volume and frenzy, and a familiar growing heat in the pit of Grantaire’s stomach was causing him to shift uncomfortably in his suddenly too-tight jeans.

“Well it sounds like they’re having a good time,” Grantaire tried to sound nonchalant, amused even, but it came out as awkward. In any other situation he would have laughed it off, maybe started applauding or banging on the wall encouragingly, but not here, not like this, not with Enjolras.

The law student had closed his eyes and appeared to be fighting to retain control. After a few calming breaths he turned to look at Grantaire and said, “I’m sorry about this. It’s Courfeyrac, he’s… incorrigible.”

A loud shriek of “Fuck!” coincided with the last word of Enjolras’ apology.

“It’s fine,” Grantaire tried to smile, feeling his face growing hot as he shifted to hide the growing bulge in his trousers while simultaneously trying not drawing attention to it, “Seriously, it happens.”

“I know, it’s just… undignified. Combeferre should know better. I was– Oh.”

Grantaire’s entire world fell apart with that one surprised syllable; Enjolras had chanced to look at his boner.

“Oh. Um…”

“It’s just… the noises…” Grantaire could feel any possibility of his ever speaking to Enjolras again spiralling out of his reach, “I mean, I’m not really- It’s just- ”

“Are you gay?”

The sudden question blindsided Grantaire, who spluttered, “What? I, um… I have my moments… Does it matter?”

“No! No, it’s just… You know, a surprise… I mean, I didn’t think you were the sort- ”

Now both faces were red, as the noises from the next room continued to increase in pitch and urgency. Grantaire was suddenly feeling more angry than embarrassed; he’d had enough of this in his life, and he hadn’t expected it from Mr Social Justice as well.

“Are you?” demanded Grantaire combatively.

“Am I what?” returned Enjolras.

“Gay?”

“Me?” Enjolras’ composure fled entirely and he gave Grantaire a stricken look before replying slowly, “I don’t… I’m not…”

“It’s fine,” Grantaire cut him off harshly before he could finish, “I get it. Hell, I’m used to it. I’ll see you around.”

And the humiliated artist grabbed his sketchbook and strode to the door, slamming it on his way out, leaving Enjolras dumbfounded in his wake.

**

Combeferre came with a long, drawn out yell, letting himself go completely as he thrust deeply into Courfeyrac twice more.

That was more than enough to push Courfeyrac over the edge himself and he came into his own hand and across the bed sheet, groaning, “’Ferre, oh fuck… ‘Ferre, yes!”

Courfeyrac’s legs gave out and he slid gracefully down onto the sweat-soaked and come-stained linen, panting heavily as he wiped his sticky hand on the sheets. Combeferre sank down with him and they remained entwined together for a few minutes as their breathing eased and the room grew steadily darker around them.

Combeferre gently pulled out of Courfeyrac, disposed of the condom, and lay down behind him, pulling the smaller man’s back into his chest and wrapping his arms fondly around him.

Courfeyrac began absentmindedly stroking the arm that covered his chest before he asked, “’Ferre?”

“Hmm?” replied the student sleepily.

“What do you think of Enjolras’ new boyfriend?”

A deep sigh, then, “The one he doesn’t know he has?”

Courfeyrac nodded, “Grantaire,” and his soft hair tickled Combeferre’s sweaty chest.

“He seems like an okay guy.”

“Good. Because he just heard all that. He’s with Enj in his room next door.”

Combeferre’s arms stiffened uncomfortably around Courfeyrac before a falsely calm voice asked, “They’re what?”

“Next door.”

“Right.”

“Think we made a good impression?”

“Courfeyrac, please get out.”

“But ‘Ferre- ”

“Get out!”

Courfeyrac yelped as Combeferre shoved him roughly off the bed, the law student giggling at the angry blush that was colouring the other boy’s cheeks.

“Out!”

Courfeyrac dodged a swipe from his embarrassed lover and ran laughing into the hallway with the soiled sheet wrapped around his slim hips. He promptly collided with Grantaire, who had exited Enjolras’ room at the same moment, and whose usually pale face was flushed a similar shade of pink to Combeferre’s. Courfeyrac laughed again at the look of shock that the artist gave him and pranced down the hall to his own bedroom.

Combeferre then emerged, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts, and cast a startled, sheepish look at Grantaire before going even redder and stammering out, “That wasn’t…”

“Right,” agreed Grantaire.

“We’re… just friends,” murmured the usually eloquent philosopher, finding himself at a loss for words.

“Of course,” nodded Grantaire again, fighting back a smile despite himself.

“He’s just…” Combeferre trailed off shaking his head absently, and after one final quizzical look from Grantaire he shuffled back to his room muttering to himself.

At that moment Enjolras appeared, still looking a little less composed than he usually did, and called, “Wait, Grantaire! I didn’t mean… I just- ”

“It’s fine,” said Grantaire in a firm, quiet voice, “I’ve heard it all before.”

And he let himself out, taking the stairs two at a time and all but running down the street so that Enjolras wouldn’t see the sparkle of tears in his tired eyes, or the way his hands shook as he ached for the comfort of a bottle.

Later that night, red eyed and sunk three quarters of the way into a lonely bottle of gin, Grantaire clutched blearily for his vibrating phone in the dark room. It was a text from Enjolras, which he really very definitely did not want to read, but which he opened and read in any case.

 

ENJOLRAS  
I’m sorry if I offended you.

GRANTAIRE  
Itts f ine

ENJOLRAS  
No it isn’t. I hurt your feelings  
and embarrassed you and I  
didn’t mean to sound in any  
way homophobic, I was just  
surprised by your reaction   
to what happened earlier.   
Please forgive me?

GRANTAIRE  
I am tooo drqunk fo r  
tthis. Pls leave me alone

ENJOLRAS  
I’m sorry.

GRANTAIRE  
Imm queer as hhel

ENJOLRAS  
And that’s fine.

GRANTAIRE  
I meaan it imm sttrait as   
a ranbow

ENJOLRAS  
Which is fine.

GRANTAIRE  
Ur asss id fine

ENJOLRAS  
Go to sleep R.


End file.
